The one where Harvey gets drunk and moody on Halloween
by mieh
Summary: I think my stupid title is pretty descriptive


Just a little something for Halloween. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Massive love to Blue and Kris for, without fail, being so great all the damn time. And if you can't tell I don't even have Halloween on my corner of the planet, it's because Blue betaed, of course.

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Louis has made him attend several stupid partners meetings regarding topics like Bran Bars nutritional values and bathrooms ventilation. He distributed an insane amount of "Litt The Managing Partnership Up" t-shirts and coffee mugs within the firm. He embarrassed Harvey in front of a client at least three times in the past month.

And still, Harvey has never regretted agreeing to let him be managing partner more than right now at this goddamn party.

A Halloween party. Mandatory costumes. Can't bail because clients are invited. S _eriously, Louis?_ Harvey leans against the bar, a drink in hand acting as his date for the night. This could not get any worse.

Actually, it could, and it would. The minute she shows up, no doubt with Thomas Kessler in tow. He's not only a client, but he's been practically glued to her for the past two weeks.

It started out professionally, with Donna stepping in to help on a case for his company. But the man kept showing up at the firm when he had no business being there and he was still there after it was all over – and Harvey had made sure the case was over as quickly as possible, which turned out to be all for nothing.

The first day after the case was finished, Harvey got to the office in the morning in a particularly good mood, happily biting on his breakfast burrito and skimming the hallways with confidence. That was until he walked by Donna's office and through the glass walls he saw it. Thomas Kessler, sitting at the edge of her desk and Donna relaxed back in her chair, giggling.

He almost dropped his burrito.

He saw the guy there so much he would think the firm hired the son of a bitch if he didn't know better. But it still managed to get worse.

One day, leaving the office a little earlier than usual, as soon as he got through the revolving doors and onto the street, he caught sight of a flash of red hair being escorted inside a car. He blinked and it was over. But he then caught a good look of Kessler walking around the car and sitting behind the wheel.

He got very, very drunk in his lonely apartment that night. And when he woke up the next morning, with a throbbing headache and a heaviness in his chest, that's when he finally admitted to himself how fucking badly he had screwed up. He had lost her, without ever allowing himself the possibility of ever having her.

How did that backfire so spectacularly? The point of not being with her was exactly to not ever run the risk of losing her. How did he miscalculate this shit so badly?

Was that it then? Did he really lose her for good?

After everything they had gone through, he couldn't believe that was the end for them. But he also didn't know how to fix it.

So there he was. In the worst mood he remembers ever being in, considerably drunk when it was still early in the night, having to endure this fucking bullshit of a party and knowing it would get even worse. Hence all the scotch.

"Goddamnit, Harvey! I told you costumes were mandatory!" comes Louis' voice from behind Harvey's back, completely outraged.

"Looking good, Louis!" Harvey mentions, unfazed by the reprimand, as he turns to find the man in some sort of Shakespearean outfit, fluffy collar, heeled shoes and beard included.

"Of course I look good, I've paid half my annual bonus on this costume. The vest is authentic! Why are you not dressed up?" He eyes Harvey's suit with almost disgust.

"I am. I'm Bond," Harvey extends his drink in Louis direction, as if toasting him. "James Bond."

"You look exactly the same as everyday."

"No, I don't. I usually wear Tom Ford, this is Armani." He says matter of factly and pulls his suit jacket a bit to the side to show the object hanging from his belt. "And I have a gun. I'm armed and dangerous."

And with that Louis is sold.

"Shit, you look spectacular! Why didn't I think of that idea?"

A second familiar voice appears by his side. "You look like no fun, is what you look like."

Harvey turns to her and _shit._

It's a very obvious stare and once he realizes he hopes for dear life checking out her costume is a good enough of an excuse as to why his sight slowly travelled all the way up her legs, her waist and breasts before it finally reached her face.

"You look like _a lot_ of fun." He smirks teasingly, a mischievous glint in his eyes he finds staring him right back in hers.

Shiny black thigh high boots run up her legs for what's probably a mile. He can see just a strip of her pale, toned thighs before blue fabric interrupts his sight – he's pretty sure her skirt is longer than Julia Robert's was – but he's sure it's just enough to allow the exact width of his hand to slide over her skin...

She's made alterations to the costume, which is probably why she still managed to look classy and not cheap. The white top (unfortunately) doesn't have the openings on the side to show her skin and the big red coat tied around her waist helps cover the gap between where her skirt ends and her boots begin. The cleavage, though… that's as plunging as ever under the skimpy white fabric. Her hair is curled and voluminous and tossed to the side in a purposefully messy way she never uses.

"Don't I always?" One eyebrow raises as she smirks and he suddenly wishes he was dressed as a ghost, hidden under a sheet, because fitted suit pants become a really bad idea.

"You two look like you're wearing a couple's costume," Louis mentions carelessly. "Just toss your gun and say you're Richard Gere."

Harvey lowers his chin, raising his eyebrows inquisitively in Donna's direction and doing his best not to look too pleased with the idea.

"Hey, Richard Gere, you think you can get me one of those?" Donna points to the drink in his hand and Harvey flags the barman as she leans beside him by the bar. She just smells _so_ good.

Donna and Louis start chatting about something he can't concentrate on, but when he hands her the requested drink, hoping to then get her attention, she just thanks him and drifts away, saying she wants to talk to Samantha and advising him to stop moping by the bar and go mingle with clients.

He does try to work the room and be charming for a while, but when he sees a particular client walk into the party, wearing a stupid flashy costume, and walking straight to Donna, a hand sliding against her back as he greets her with a kiss on the cheek, he is done.

He wants to scream and punch something ( _someone_ ) and he thinks he probably would if he wasn't feeling suddenly out of breath. So he goes back to the bar. Downs two more shots of scotch in one go. Breathes in and breathes out. And comes to the conclusion he's not panicking, he's just so fucking angry. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can hear her voice clearly say that _"anger covers the hurt, but I knew you didn't know that"_ as she rolls her eyes at his lack of emotional awareness. And maybe that's just it. He's hurt.

He thinks about leaving, but he can't leave her behind.

So he stays, and watches them, and pretends to pay attention to other people, and drinks. A lot.

The night goes by in a fog. He has a faint notion of people stopping by at the bar and chatting to him, to which he responded on auto pilot. Eventually he hears a low voice close to his ear, that's finally able to hold his attention.

"Are you okay?"

He drags his heavy eyes to hers and she looks concerned.

"Never better."

"How much did you drink?"

"A shit ton."

He's leaning heavily against the bar and it couldn't be more clear that he needs the support.

"Harvey, what the hell? You should probably leave."

"This is a great party, Donna. You sure seem to be having fun."

"What?" Her nose scrunches in confusion and he thinks it's cute. He stares at her and forgets he's supposed to say something. "I'll just call Ray to take you home, okay?"

"Ray's not here, I sent him home."

Which means he needs to get a cab, something he clearly can't manage on his own. At least not safely.

She tugs on his arm to pull him away from the bar and he goes willingly.

"Think you can make it to the door there, James Bond?"

"I've made a lot of doors." Harvey slurs and she chuckles, a hand behind his shoulder, guiding him to the exit and hoping to god he doesn't trip on his own feet.

Donna manages to get a cab in a split second – she's dressed as freaking Pretty Woman, after all – and helps push Harvey inside. He falls back heavily and looks at her standing there, holding on to the open door and biting her lips. Thinking. It may very well be pity. Or concern for his physical integrity. Or for his wallet. But she walks around the cab and gets in beside him and he doesn't mind the reason why she's going home with him.

When they get to his place, Harvey feels drunker, if that's at all possible. She drags him out of the elevator, seeing as apparently he was ready to fall asleep standing in there.

As soon as they enter the apartment, he makes a bee line for the couch on wobbly legs, but she pulls him back, tugging on the back of his jacket, before he makes three steps.

"Wow, there, tiger. You need to hydrate."

"I'm hydrated, I'm so hy—" A hiccup interrupts the rest of his sentence.

"You sure are high."

He leans heavily on the kitchen counter and observes as she moves around his kitchen, every last bit of focus he had in him directed at her legs. Donna extends him a glass full of water not paying attention, an eye already on the coffee maker, and when Harvey clumsily reaches for the glass he ends up knocking it out of her hand, spilling water all over her shirt. Donna squeals and jumps back.

"Shit! I'm sorry!"

Looking down at her white shirt, she confirms her suspicions that it had gone see-through. Her eyes snap back to find his fixated on her boobs, an undeniable grin on his lips.

"Yeah, you look like it."

"I'm sorry, I'm not blind."

"What are the chances you have alcoholic amnesia?"

"I think it's safe to say I'm not ever forgetting about this."

Donna huffs and rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Nothing you've never seen before anyway."

"Did you just—"

"Go get some water yourself."

Even in his drunken state, he knows it's better not to test her patience any further and he obeys, but almost spills the water all over again once he gets sight of what she's doing.

Leaning on the back of the nearest armchair, she slides a zipper all the way down the long length of her boots, freeing her legs from the shiny black material. She gets back to him barefoot, a good five inches shorter, but having gained much more balance to support his weigh in case he tumbles as she walks him to the bedroom, watching closely as he drags his feet, a hand on the middle of his back.

Standing right in front of him, by his bed, in the dim light coming from the living room, she extends a hand inside his suits jacket, reaching for his belt. Harvey gulps and she looks at him in time to see his jaw clenching and his eyes widening. She smirks and detaches the plastic gun from his belt, tossing it on the floor and rolling her eyes again.

Harvey breathes in, broadening his chest and attempting to look less stupid. He tries to shrug his jacket off, but he seems to have forgotten how to do that, so she helps him, and if he weren't so drunk be probably would feel very pathetic.

Donna pulls on his left sleeve, bringing his hand to her. She silently undoes one of his cufflinks, and then the other. He's looking down at her face, waiting for her to say something, but she takes her time.

"Harvey…" She finally looks back at him once she's done with the cufflinks. "Why did you drink this much? This is not like you."

"I don't know, Donna… I guess I just needed it."

"Why? What happened?"

He drifts away from her, sitting at the edge of the bed and clumsily pulling on his tie. Donna watches for a couple of seconds before she goes to him. Standing between his legs, she helps him undo the knot and pulls the silk fabric from around his neck.

He looks up at her and so deeply into her eyes, she knows it means he thinks she should know the answer.

"Harvey," she pleads.

"I fucked up, Donna. I fucked up so badly…"

Donna eyes him worriedly, moving to sit beside him. "What did you do?"

"It's what I _didn't_ do. I'm an idiot."

He hides his face in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees, and she waits. Waits for him to explain, to say something, to look at her. But he's Harvey, so of course he doesn't.

She lightly places a hand on his arm, trying to get him to go on. When he stares back at her he looks so pained it scares her. Her lips part, starting to mumble some sort of question, but he interrupts with an answer.

"I didn't do shit. I fucked up and I lost you and now it's too late."

Her hand slides off his arm as she gapes at him, eyes widening.

"What are you…?"

"I let you go, and now you've moved on and I'm gonna spend the rest of my miserable life wishing I…" He interrupts his own string of drunken thoughts. "Except I didn't! I didn't let you go, you weren't supposed to… We were supposed to be together! That asshole wasn't supposed to just appear out of nowhere and—"

"Harvey, what the hell are you talking about?!"

"I'm talking about you and me!"

"I got that part. What asshole?"

"Kessler!"

She frowns. "What?!"

"What?" He snaps back, looking completely lost and completely drunk.

"Could you just _not_ be drunk for one second? This is important."

"You're goddamn right it's important! That asshole is taking away the woman of my life and—Why are you smiling?"

She slowly shakes her head, laughs under her breath. "You are such an idiot."

"That was the first thing I established."

"Thomas is gay."

His jaw drops slightly as realization catches up with him, his eyes are wider than ever as he mumbles and stutters.

"But—But I… I saw you guys…! For weeks!"

"We've become friends." Donna shrugs.

"I saw you going home with him!"

"He's helping me redo my apartment. He's CEO of an _interior design_ company, Harvey."

"So you're not… Are you really…?"

"Available? Yes, I am. Ready to take back everything you just said?" She raises an eyebrow in his direction and her tone is bitter.

But her mouth is sweet, he finds out as he curls his fingers in the back of her neck and pulls her to him. His lips drag over hers, suck on her top one and, when he feels her arms fold behind his neck, he gives himself permission to slide his tongue against hers, kissing her frantically. Fingers tangle beneath her hair, holding her to him.

His hands slide down her back until he grabs her waist and tries to pull her to his lap.

"Wow, ease up, James Bond!" She stops him and it sounds familiar, but he doesn't know why.

He gets nervous. "Are _you_ taking it back?" he accuses, a slight ring of desperation in his tone.

"Taking what back? I didn't say anything."

"Donna!" he whines and she laughs.

She brings her lips to his again. Close, so close. But not touching.

"I'm not taking it back," she whispers against his lips and gives him a quick peck before distancing herself again. "But you're drunk."

"So what?"

"I don't want to be arrested."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't want to take advantage of you." She winks and smirks, but even drunk Harvey knows her better than that.

"You think I'm going to take it back once I'm sober, don't you?"

She shrugs, trying to seem non committal and failing.

He reaches for her again, sliding his hands up the sides of her body, resting over her rib cage. He smooths his thumb there until she commits to looking into his eyes.

"I'm really not, Donna. This is it. You're it for me. You've always been."

She bites her bottom lip, avoids his gaze, trying to hold it in, but fails again and he watches a bright smile form on her lips. She looks so damn beautiful and so happy, he internally vows to make her smile like this everyday for the rest of his life.

"I'm still not sleeping with you tonight." It's her only answer.

"That's probably for the better, I'm so drunk, I'd come in a min—"

"Oh jeez!" She cuts him off, but she's laughing loudly.

She looks at him and it's somehow solemn, through the drunkenness and laughter, neither fail to recognize the weight of that very moment. She places a hand on his face, lets her thumb smooth over his jaw and her fingers caress the side of his neck and he doesn't remember ever feeling this loved.

She slowly reaches down for his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, without ever breaking eye contact. He rests his hands on her legs, the exact strip of skin below the hem of her skirt he's been staring at all night long. Fingers slowly smooth her soft skin and he can't believe his luck.

When she finishes with the buttons, she runs both hands over his shoulders, sliding his shirt off, and he reluctantly parts his hands from her to push the piece of fabric off his arms.

She smiles. "I think it's best if you handle your belt yourself."

"Are you afraid you're gonna be too tempted?"

"Something like that."

She moves and he quickly holds her down.

"You're not leaving, are you?"

"Harvey, it's the middle of the night, I'm dressed as a hooker and my shirt is transparent. No, I'm not leaving."

He grins, the curve of his lips quickly turning into a teasing smirk as an idea forms. "How much for the entire night?"

She laughs, but he doesn't give up, still looking at her expectantly, so she concedes. "Stay here? You couldn't afford it."

"Try me." He quotes back with the biggest grin on his face.

"Okay, that's enough with the Pretty Woman quotes."

"You don't know the rest, do you?" he teases.

"Of course I know the rest!"

"Then prove it."

"Shut up. I'm going to the bathroom to change."

"You can't charge for directions!" He tries for one more desperate quote as he watches her silhouette distance itself from him in the direction of his closet. But then she replies back, and if he hadn't spent thirteen years loving her so goddamn much, he would think he never loved her more than in that right second.

"I can do anything I want, baby. I ain't lost."

He laughs and drops back onto his bed.

.

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache he pays absolutely no mind to because Donna walks into his room wearing his shirt and bringing two mugs of coffee and he knows not even his subconscious could create the kind of happiness he's feeling.


End file.
